Dolls for World Peace

When I heard we were relaunching the blog, I was very excited, 'cuz it's always good to freshen things up a bit, right? I've got a new head shot, the layout's different, and in celebration of all this, I've decided to take this time to share one of the most memorable days of my grown up life. It's a long one, but worth the read.

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It all started with a hot tip in the Sun Sentinel newspaper. I read about a group of seniors who were making dolls for children in Darfur. I was touched and called the number in the article. I made an appointment with Springtree Assisted Living's activities director Linda Forrest to meet the dollmakers.

I was escorted to the recreation room by a woman in a tall black wheel chair with a thick French Canadian accent.

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Meet Denyse Duda. She started the whole Dolls for World Peace phenomenon. One evening, this former missionary/nurse was watching the news, and her heart ached for the children of Darfur. She wanted to help somehow, and give them some hope, something to hug. That night in her room she made a simple doll. Denyse showed her prototype to Linda Forrest and proposed starting a community project, and making 1,000. Linda's response was, "You're crazy!" And they got to work.

They raised $91 from a community flea market, enough to buy a bolt of fabric and some batting. They enrolled the nearby high school in the project, and students made 96 dolls. The recruit for residents began. Sewers and stuffers needed! Enough seniors showed up, and the ladies formed a team

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consisting of 8 "full time" gals who sew day and night, not because they have to, but because they want to.

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Triest has dementia. She operates one of the donated sewing machines. Her daughter, whom I met, sees a big positive difference in her mother when she is working on dolls.

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Rose maneuvers another machine and her scooter with aplomb.

Sylvia, who closes up each doll with a series of handstitches, claims to forget she's on oxygen when she's stitching.

Then there are the women who stuff the batting into the dolls

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Adele is such a cutie pie who also has dementia.

Antoinette suffers from Parkinson's disease so badly that she can barely hold a cup in her hands, and yet she can stuff a doll like there's no tomorrow.

Sweet Frances is 90, and she pulls her weight despite arthritis, and partial sight and hearing loss.

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Bonnie, who cuts the cloth, has been volunteering at Springtree for 5 years. She gladly joined this project as soon as it went into motion. These women show up everyday with the hopes of making the world a cuddlier place.

The outside community got word that the Springtree seniors were up to much good; donations started coming in and volunteers enlisted.

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Nancy Rehbine Zentis (pictured, left, with Denyse, center, and Linda Forrest, right), a business consultant at the Institute for Organizational Development, volunteered her expertise and arranged for their non-profit status. She also got Congresswoman Debbie Wasserman to support the cause.

The group proudly displays the shipping document from their first delivery to the Sudan; DHL ate the $2100 shipping fee.

Thousands and thousands of dolls have been made so far. They have been sent to places like Darfur, Haiti, Israel, and Guyana. They have been sent locally too to Alzheimer's facilities, foster care centers, and to hospice. Communities, near and far, want to participate.

The kindergarteners and first graders at Mattie Washburn School in Windsor, CA are doing their share. Linda Forrest's, daughter in law Julie, an elementary school teacher brought the project into the school.

Here's what it's all about. Denyse and her team gave of themselves to help those in need, and ended up helping themselves. As Linda Forrest puts it, "They thought they were doing a wonderful thing for the world, but look what it did for them!"

P.S. As part of my salute to seniors week, I treated myself to "Young at Heart," a joyful documentary about an eccentric senior chorus group, their passion for singing and staying active, and what it takes to get them ready for their next performance. I loved watching Bob Cilman, the committed slightly scruffy musical director, dispense a balance of tough love and admiration on this group in order to whip them into top form to sing the likes of The Clash and James Brown. I sat in the theater alone, save for one elderly couple. I laughed out loud and of course I cried too. *****